


Messenger

by GloriaMundi



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Community: contrelamontre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-27
Updated: 2003-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles has a message for Patroclus</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messenger

Hector, fleeing, had made himself prey; turned the matter from combat to game as he tried to outrun his fate. White dust winged his feet as he ran, striving to outpace Achilles and reach the city gate.

Achilles had often run races with Patroclus, before the war. Sometimes -- to see his cousin smile -- he'd let Patroclus win. Swift-footed Achilles, true to the Olympian blood in his veins, was never above guile to gain his prize.

His prize then had been Patroclus, laughing at him from the course's end, half-knowing that his victory was Achilles' gift. Later, after their pulses and their breathing had raced together in a gentler contest, they'd lain in one another's arms, limbs heavy with fatigue.

"I will avenge you, when you're dead," he'd said to Achilles once.

"You think even Death can part us?" Achilles had murmured, pretending surprise. "Surely I will find my way back to your arms."

"And leave me waiting for you?" Patroclus had said, laughing. "No! I'll come to Hades, and bring you out with me." He'd sealed the vow with a kiss.

Achilles had kissed him back, and let the kiss seal his lips. That was not the fame he had been promised.

Now he chased Hector in the shadow of Troy's walls, breath even and feet unfaltering. He knew the weight -- who knew it better? -- of the armour that Hector wore, knew how much it would slow the other man. The breast-plate would have been warm, still, when Hector stripped it from Patroclus' body.

Achilles' own armour was light and strong and bright with newness, the gift of his goddess-mother. Patroclus' death did not weigh him down; it lent him strength. He ran as though he were running towards Patroclus, and not his killer. He'd send Hector hurrying down to Hades with tidings for the slain: "Achilles, your cousin, salutes you. He sends you this sacrifice, avenging you."

He would seal it ...

Another turn, and the sun cast sharp rays into Achilles' eyes. Apollo's tricks had helped slay Patroclus, but they would not stay his avenger. Hector was slowing, so near that Achilles could hear his breath rasping in his lungs. He did not need to see his quarry.

"Hector!" he cried, and heard the other stumble, as though the dust concealed snares. "Hector! Stand and fight!"

And Hector turned, his sword catching the red light of the sinking sun.

Half-blinded by Apollo's rays, hand rising to shield himself against phantoms that Hector's sandalled foot kicked up from the dust, Achilles brought his own sword up. He thought of Patroclus, who had died without any god to protect him. Achilles' own armour had not been enough.

Achilles had no need of divine help now.

Hector's blood felt cold where it splashed against Achilles' unarmoured skin. Achilles' sword had pierced his breast, and the death-spasms were strong and quick.

"Let ... my people ... have my body," Hector pleaded, between the screams that he would not voice.

"No," said Achilles, leaning forward. "But I will send you, prince, as my messenger to Hades."

Hector's mouth was bitter with bile, salty with blood. His lips were already as cold as a corpse's. He struggled, pinned by Achilles' strong hands, pierced by his sword. Achilles, strong and alive, kissed Hector with all the impotent fire that still burnt in him for lost Patroclus. He breathed in the ragged breaths as Hector fought for air.

Faintly, from the city walls, came the Trojans' cries.

Hector's body slackened in his grasp, and Achilles, unhurried, drew back from the kiss. He let Hector -- no, Hector's corpse -- fall at his feet.

"Tell him ..." he said aloud, into the roaring silence.

But the kiss, and its bearer, were message enough.

Achilles' chariot was approaching from the Greek camp already, the horses' legs socked with white dust. Kneeling, he began to strip his armour from Hector's still-warm body.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Written in about 45 minutes for the contrelamontre 'kiss in an unusual place' challenge.


End file.
